There Ain't No Heaven
by Shinsou808
Summary: Tannis' paltry sum wasn't enough. Instead of reliving it all over again, Marcus and I struck a deal. To go to a new land, far from where I've been, and to get off Pandora.
1. The Devil's Garden

**There Ain't No Heaven**

**BY**

**SHINSOU808  
**

Obligatory Author's Note: Notes on Lore and Changes from standard Borderlands gameplay

This story is rated M for gratuitous use of foul language, alcohol and tobacco references, blood, and decapitated limbs. If you haven't seen them yet, I'll probably include it. In any case, you play an M-rated game. There should be no surprises.

The things that let me down the most about Borderlands were the paper thin plot, the limited scope for player character and (most of) the NPC's, and limited scope of the "planet" itself. While I try to adhere to the limited gleanings of background information from the game and the Wiki, a significant portion of it will be original or my own spin. This will include, but not limited to, original concepts such as new lands, companies, people, creatures, etc. While canon is nice (and admittedly limited), originality is even better. If the game mentions things like "Sanctuary" and "Brigadiers" but does not back it up, its fair game.

The other player characters and NPC's in the game will probably not be featured, but they will be given appropriate nods and some "flavor material" parallel to the game. Other characters may travel to this new section of Pandora, but will mainly stay in "canon lands" as I like to call it. Character history will be expanded upon compared to the paltry amount of hints and history the game provides. It's better than not being mentioned at all.

Whenever possible, ballistics will be taken into account. Rifle rounds are different from pistol rounds, which travel farther, faster, and are far more lethal. Headshots for humans are one-shot, one-kill without shields and/or tank-like Crimson Lance armor. Bullet drop, while limited, will also be in effect. Magazine capacities will probably be standardized as well, though I haven't figured out what I want to do. In short, no 6-shooter revolver will magically increase its capacity by three rounds, be able to snipe a bandit at 800 yards, or be walking away from a headshot. What can be done here will probably be translated in the story.

For the sake of a better story, the Second Wind mechanic will be limited to second tries and not third, fourth, fifth, etc. However, positions other than the default kneeling one will be utilized. Player character will be able to move in a limited direction.

Class mods and skills will have a severely downplayed effect in the environment. Automatic ammo and health regeneration, increased magazine capacities, team recoil reduction, etc. will be thrown out.

If it can be kicked down, shot up, blown up, or otherwise destroyed, it will be done. Everything has an equal and opposite reaction. Claptraps may be murdered in the making of this story.

**Lastly, all trademarks belong to their respective owners, including Borderlands to 2K Games and Gearbox Software and all original concepts created by me, myself, and I.**

Note: This disclaimer may change.

---------

**Chapter 1**

**The Devil's Garden**

I woke up in the back of the bus. It brought back a lot of memories, like I coming to this burnt out planet all over again. The hot wind that blew through here sucked. There was no fan to help. It was Marcus' same old rickety-ass bus. Most of paint was worn, like a scag had sat in a couple of the seats. I could hardly see anything out of the boarded slats for windows. His personal souvenirs that littered the floor could kill me more than his guns could. It sounded like the perfect place to rekindle old memories. But sadly, instead of a whole menagerie of assholes like before, it was just me on that bus, listening to Marcus' stories on how he neutered the great Skagzilla.

"She was a fucking beauty, wasn't she?!" Marcus cackled through the rear view mirror. "She could give birth to 9,000 new skags a minute! We could have skags for breakfast, lunch, AND dinner if their meat didn't taste like fucking shit!"

Though I wanted to laugh, I was too focused on my own thoughts. Glancing up at the mirror, I saw Marcus frown a bit, "Jesus fucking Christ! Cheer up, you turd! Here!" He tossed a pack back at my head.

I caught it looked at it suspiciously. The packaging looked liked it was soaked in a mixture of his own piss and alcohol beforehand. I flipped open the flimsy leather cover with my roughened hands. There were five cigarettes tightly squashed in like skags in their holes. I wasn't sure what to do with it.

"The hell are you lookin' at it for!? Take one! I didn't take a piss on 'em, trust me!"

I shrugged and took a joint. Lighting the thing was quite easy considering it was probably a hundred degrees outside. I took a puff. I usually don't smoke a lot but if someone offered me a cigarette to light up, who was I to refuse?

It kicked like a fucking mule. "Goddaamn! This thing is strong. What the hell did you put into it?"

He ran his hand through his greasy hair. "Nothing but the best for my best customer. Though what's in it is a trade secret," he chuckled. "Don't worry. I won't ask you why I'm taking you to Devil's Garden."

I certainly hoped he wouldn't ask. From what I gleaned off in the bars, Devil's Garden was a land of opportunity, an oasis from the terror from what I've been through on Pandora. The possibilities were endless; no more skags, free food that didn't taste like crap, and a smokin' hot baby girl better than the Guardian Angel herself. Part of me wished the Angel existed, but man she was annoying. If it wasn't for the Vault, I would've told her to shut up.

Marcus smiled wide enough so some of his gold teeth showed. "But ya' gotta admit, you're really lucky. I know the road to there! Most people don't know it even exists!"

"Cause most people die trying," I grumbled.

"Exactly! Then the Vault story came around and businesses were boomin'! Hahaha. Look man, I'm sorry about the Vault, I really am, but I think this'll work out better than the Vault."

"I hope you're right."

Well, for starters, I never knew all the Vault had was a giant blob monster. I was planning to leave this planet with the new fortune I would've had. Not to mention the guns, the money, or even a baby girl to keep me company. None of those. The $250,000 Tannis paid wasn't much and was certainly not enough to leave the planet. I've heard rumors about inflation or some shit but this was unbelievable. Exit costs went past a million dollars with at least half a million dollars going toward fees! Even selling some of the really powerful weapons weren't enough.

When I couldn't afford the exit fees though, I blew most of my money on the good stuff. I've got to admit, New Haven has some pretty mean booze in the evenings. The spiderant flavored stuff certainly got me with its sweet and fiery flavor. If the alcohol wasn't enough, then the guns were even more enticing. Gotta love the guns! Guns were like women, you'd just go from one to the other. I nearly spent a fortune going through them.

The bus soon screeched to a halt. Its brakes whined and squealed under the heavy foot of the man pushing it.

He craned back; smiling wide enough that his gold tooth reflected all the sunlight into my weary eyes. "We're here!" he announced. "Chesterville depot! Can't you smell the fucking roses today!?"

"Yeah, that's great. Lemme get my stuff first," I said.

I'll admit, it wasn't much. In a way though, I'm starting back all over again with my Dahl Havoc M3 machine gun, a couple grenades, enough magazines to last me through a few firefights, and enough money to not make myself bankrupt within a week. I haven't had Marcus bail me out yet but I was getting pretty close. I think he knew I was in money troubles. It was only a matter of time before he eyed me as a stoner indebted to him more than an equal partner.

Once I had gathered my belongings, I made my way past the chewed up seats to get out. I was ready for a fresh start, to finally leave the Crimson Lance behind.

"You'll be fine," Marcus said while resting his hand on the gear stick. "If you could handle the Vault, you can handle anything. We've been over this before. We just need to get some support from the locals, do some animal killing, whatever you need to do to lay the foundations for a trade network. "

"And," he winked and grinned. "I'll take care of the rest. Piece of cake!"

I smirked. "Hell yeah, this is going to be a cruise."

Marcus swatted me on the arm. "Now that's what I'm talking about! You know the drill, if you need something, there's ECHO. If you need to kill something, you have a gun." His expression suddenly turned serious. "Get to it; we've got work to do."

I stepped off the bus and watch it drive away over the horizon. Thinking of a good place to have a smoke, I searched my pockets and realized that I had left Marcus' awesome cigarettes on his bus. Damn. A smoke could wait until I figured out how to get in. The landscape certainly looked more hospitable than Pandora with a cluster of lively looking trees off toward the east. The sun reflected off of the calm pools of water. For first impressions, this was not looking so bad.

"Good morning, sir! Welcome to Chesterville!" a familiar digital voice cried out. It was unmistakably a claptrap, one of those god-awful robotic manservants that would be better off being mauled in the middle of nowhere.

I looked down and saw one of the yellow and red those things staring at me. "Your face is not recognized by the registration database, sir. Unfortunately, I cannot let you proceed without proper identification and clearance."

I kneeled down and looked into its dazed red eye. No biggie, the Vault finder was me after all. I should be able to obtain the necessary DNA clearance. "You got a DNA scan on you?"

"Yes, sir! Analyzing… pulling from global ECHO database…"

"HA…HAHAAH!" it squealed. I wanted to grab its square little ass and punt it back over to Fyrestone.

It closed its robotic arms together, like it was gasping. "Oh my god!! It's… it's you! What did the Vault look like, sir?"

"You wouldn't believe it," I said sarcastically.

"I sure wouldn't, sir. We'd all dream the Vault was going to contain the code to badassery. We could be CL4P-TP, interplanetary ninja assassins! But noooooo, we're still button mashers."

He scurried off to a heavily used New-U post where I did my business, mostly getting the system to reconstruct me in the general area instead of New Haven, Fyrestone, or god-forbid, the Eridian Promontory. I didn't want to fight Guardians and their god powers again. I knew Marcus wouldn't appreciate shuttling me back here every time I did something stupid. Besides, if it was the same as Pandora, I'd think I'd fit in well here already. Gonna be a walk in the park.

We continued down a narrow pathway, passing a few shot up signs along the way, read. The settlement was in sight. A wall of corrugated metal encircled a settlement of war damaged buildings. Smoke was rising from the center of town.

I heard a buzzing sound and thought nothing of it. The Claptrap, on the other hand, freaked out like crazy. He stood frozen in fear. His metallic arms jittered and spurted out like someone short circuited him.

"Holy shit! Not them!" he exclaimed. "Get cover, sir!"

He didn't need to repeat that again. As soon as he said that, I heard machine gun fire and barreled to the side. I caught a glimpse of that flying thing as it pulled out of its dive. Its engine coughed a bit as it struggled to push the flying scrap metal son-of-bitch higher into the sky. I instinctively squeezed off a couple of bursts from my machine gun. The bullets most likely missed their target though.

"What are those things?" I asked it.

"Those things are called 'airplanes', sir. But according the local nickname, they are called 'buzzards' among other things. As you can see, sir, airplanes are hard to take down with regular small arms fire. Dahl Corporation's guided rockets are highly recommended!"

"No shit," I said. Thanks, Captain Obvious. I could've figured out that on my own.

We were mostly quiet walking the rest of the way down, although the claptrap stumbled a few times. A couple minutes since I got off the bus and we were through, almost. Between me and the 15 foot high gate of tires and scrap metal were a group of four bandits. As long as the annoying robot didn't freak out again, my ass was going to be fine. I had my machine gun locked and loaded with grenades at the ready in case things turned ugly. Inserting one of Marcus' grenade mods crossed my mind a bit but I was sure I wouldn't be needing them.

"Hey you! Sweet bitch in there! Open the goddamned door! I got kids to feed and bills to pay!" said one.

"We won't cause trouble!" said another. "We just got big dicks!"

Any idiot that listened to their bucketload of excuses could tell that they were full of it. I immediately opened fire and found cover behind an old Dahl dumpster. My machine gun clattered like a wounded old chainsaw. The bullets flew everywhere. Some of them ricocheted off the rocks, some punched though the corrugated scrap metal like a hot knife through flesh, and some actually hit. By god, they hit! The bandits screamed and moaned in pain but I was used to these sounds since way back. It was never a problem for me but I've heard people went batshit paranoid just from hearing those.

I aimed my crude sights at the next bandit that decided to spring from his cover and shot the bastard. He screamed in pain and a fountain of blood poured from his torso. Shifting my sights, I directed a stream of bullets to another one. The bullets tore into his shoulders, but failed to rip it completely off. It was still partially attached as he collapsed and gurgled in a pool of his own blood. Losing my patience with the rest of them, I threw a grenade. Crap flew everywhere; it no doubt turned the rest of their bodies into mincemeat.

"Haha. Mowin' 'em down," I said casually.

As soon as the shooting died down, I emerged from cover and surveyed the damage. I was hoping I could find at least one of them still clinging to life so I could stomp their heads open with my boots. Since they weren't going to be using their weapons anymore, I pried their blood-stained crap off of their dead bodies. The sweet smell of righteous death permeated the air. I never got over that smell; it kept me going every time.

"Goddamnit! 'Nother varmint!" a raspy female voice exclaimed. I looked around and noticed the loudspeaker on a post just left of the gate. It looked like it was shot up a couple times but it still worked.

"You can hear me, right?"

"Of course, y'twit! If I can 'ear the firefight outside 'ma gate, I can cert'inly hear you! The hell do 'ya want?" she demanded. Christ, she must be having a stroke today.

"Open the gate, for starters," I sarcastically replied.

"I don' know your face. You look like one 'o 'dose thugs that cause chaos for shits n' giggles! W'ere 'ya from?"

I shrugged, "New Haven." Using where I originally came from wouldn't have been a good idea.

"New Haven, huh? The only thin' good 'bout that place is that 'ya have Pierce to babysit 'ya. I still don' trust you. But since 'ya took care of some of the bandits, I'll let someone know to get 'ya in. Hang tight."

A couple of minutes later and the gate creaked open, struggling to find enough clearance for my head. Instead of finding that lady standing there, I was greeted by a very lanky figure dressed in torn green camouflage blobs that were pasted to his body. His face reminded me of Mordecai without his stupid mask, annoyingly thin and skinny. If he had a huge goatee, he could certainly pass off as him. His jittery cigar bounced up and down in the corner of his mouth. Once he took it out of his mouth, it shook violently in his hand. Burning himself seemed to always be a possibility for him.

"Oi you," he pointed at me with his ripped gloves. "Get 'yer ass in here before we have to dig 'yer ass out from the other side."

"And it's been the third time with you," he said, turning his attention to the claptrap. "My god, if you wanted to be assraped over the walls… YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID SO!"

The claptrap scurried in front of me, running its motors to frantically reunite with its master. I casually walked under the straining gate, with some of the dirt and grime falling down on my forehead. There was a second wall of scrap metal just behind that lanky guy. My guess is that it was only for show; I could poke my finger through without a problem.

The gate slammed down behind us. "Your visit better be worth it, chump. I don't like raisin' the gate up too many times. She's way beyond her years," he said.

He pounded his fist on the speaker. "Work, goddamn you," he muttered. "I got 'em, Moira. I'll be sendin' in our guest here."

"As for you," he said simply, turning to the claptrap. "Come with me. I got some words for you."

"Yes, sir," the claptrap said quietly as they disappeared out of my sight beyond the maze of crap. Though I was kind of curious, I didn't it get the better of me.

I heard a squeak from the lock in front of me. "Go a'ead, its open. Pull it towards ya'."

I did exactly that. The door handle creaked open and I found myself staring at a deserted version of New Haven. I knew there were people inside those bullet riddled structures. The only question was why, but I had a feeling it had to do with the firefight earlier. Staring at the mud that rambled through the streets, I instinctively connected my steps; trying to get acquainted with my new surroundings. And where to duck in case a firefight broke out.

Finding that lady's office in the center of town wasn't hard though. There was a sign pointing the way, I could read, and follow simple directions. I walked through the door-less entrance and said a quick "Yo!" I wasn't too big on formalities and she looked like she didn't want to be either.

"Sorry 'bout the goddamn mess," she shrugged, tossing her frizzled brown hair behind her. "Just got flooded. 'Course our drainage system's crap."

I sloshed through the mess of her office, if it could be called that. My boots trampled on the books and papers that were scattered everywhere, even on the mud-soaked floor. Most of them had random scribbling on it. One book was for catnip and other papers were for a tire that crashed its way into somebody's home. I wondered if she could ever find what she needed, much less run a town.

She twirled her pen through her lanky fingers. "I don' look it, but I don' use missin' a leg and survivin' strokes as fuckin' excuses not to interact with the people. Helena may try to pull crap with her robo-arm and syn'tec skin and call it noble, but I don't. "

She threw the pen off to the side. Her eyebrows creased. "Most importantly, I can still shoot. See that varmint over'dere," she pointed out where I came in. "If I can hit 'em on a rainy day, imagine what ya' head's gonna be on a sunny day."

I didn't need a whole lot of imagination to know what that would look like. She rambled on, "But I know why you're here. It's 'cause that foo' Marcus is so damn persistent!"

I shrugged. "Well, he is the best."

"At robbin' ya' wallet full of dollars before you know what he sold 'ya," she spat on the floor. "The one thing he can't do is hire the right people. I've chased a lotta green dumbshits outta town ma'self, but you're different."

She pointed directly at me. "Like the ugly scarf around yo' head! If Marcus is gonna try to sell in my neck of the woods, he'd betta hope you're up to the task."

We discussed more about my arrival to this first stop. I think I made the right decision to start again. Hell, it might not be glamorous or pretty like in the good old days of the Crimson Lance, but it would do. Tannis must be laughing at me somewhere. I shouldn't have sold the Vault key to her. I should've milked the Vault Key's mysticism to fucking death. It is all too late now.

And Marcus, I have no choice but to trust that he's right. But if there was something I liked trusting…

It was a gun.

* * *

A/N: And that's the end of the first chapter. So what do you all think? Please tell me what you think and leave a review! Comments and criticism appreciated.


	2. Doctor Fred

**Chapter 2.**

**Dr. Fred**

_A/N: Please read Obligatory Author's Note for general disclaimer on lore_! _All trademarks belong to their respective owners, including Borderlands to 2K Games and Gearbox Software et. al and all original concepts created by me, myself, and I._

I was rudely awakened by the sound of my ECHO node going off like a distressed Rakk at fucking o'dark-whatever-it-was in the dim cycle. It never seemed to pick a convenient time to go off! It was from Marcus, lovely. Knowing that most chances of me going back to sleep were shot right out the window, I answered it anyway. I sat up on my board for a bed. Happily provided by the people of Chesterville, of course.

"Marcus! Christ! Do you know what time it is!?" I hissed.

His jolly voice rang like a fucking bomb went off in my head. "Hey man, you should really try the Stripper's Strawberry Succulent Spiderant Screwdriver of P-E-N-I_-_S in New Haven! HAHAHA! You don't know what you're missin' cousin!"

I rubbed my eyes. "Thanks for rubbing it in my face, asshole," I grumbled. "What do you want?"

"Just for a little tidbit, don't completely trust Moira," Marcus' tone changed quite seriously. "She 'n I go back a ways."

What a load of crap for waking me up that early. "Well, no shit. I really hope you've got something good for me."

"What? Can't find a job?" he asked.

"There's nothing on the bounty board," I said simply.

"Nothing?" he asked curiously. "I'd be happy to sell you something," he said naively.

"Zero."

"That's weird. I was there a week ago and…"

God, this guy must be drunk today. "A week's a long time, idiot."

"OK, fine. You got me," he admitted. "Look, I might have something for you. Check this out."

A picture flashed right in front of my face. He looked just like Dr. Zed with the same bloodied lab coat, rolled up sleeves, and the trademark old facemask along with an obnoxious pair of shades. His arm pumped toward the camera, shoving a proud "thumbs up" gesture in my face and an inked skag into my eye. I looked at him suspiciously. If he wasn't Zed's brother, I don't know what he was. He could pass off for a slightly weird doctor if he had a med school degree.

"Don't worry about him. He's Dr. Fred, the resident doctor in the area. Unfortunately, I've lost contact with him for a couple of days. I've transferred the co-ordinates to your ECHO. He should have stuff for you to do."

"Is he a good doctor or bad doctor?"

"Well," I detected a hint of nervousness in his speech. "He's kind of like Zed."

"Kind of like Zed?" I wondered with a mix of suspicion and sarcasm.

"At least he won't turn you into a fucking zombie with rotten brains and shit!" he retorted. "Have you seen his vending machines yet?"

Come to think of it, I haven't. "No, not really."

"Look, I'm sure he'll work you in as a business partner. If not, I'll make sure of it." What a load of crap he's promising. But hell, I need the money and I wasn't expecting to be anyone's business partner when I first got here.

"You sure you'll make sure of it?"

"I'm positive!" he beamed. "Just like the guns I sell."

I shrugged. "Alright, I'll get to it in the morning."

He'd better be right. If not, I could always melee it out in his shop. His multitude of guns versus my experiences as a soldier; now that would be a battle! Eagerness aside, I immediately switched off my ECHO node and hit my head onto the board. I rolled over and tapped the side to make sure my gun was still there, magazines were topped off, and most importantly, safeties off with a round in the chamber. As a soldier, I liked my safeties off.

Since becoming a mercenary, early rising and light sleeping was second nature. Being in The Crimson Lance was no exception. Hardly anyone noticed me walk out of town in the pre-lit cycles. Getting a move on in the crisp air before the heat and the animals of Pandora tore me apart was always a good idea. I did the same thing in New Haven and Pierce didn't seem to give a damn. After slogging through the weeds that littered the savannah, I stopped on a small hill to re-orient myself and to catch a small break. I looked around and saw Chesterville barely visible to the southwest.

Something else caught my eye as I saw smoke rising off in the distance. Wherever there was smoke, there were usually people. People usually meant bandits and wherever there were bandits, there was always loot. Mmm, loot. It was on the way to the crazy doctor's place, too. It couldn't hurt to check it out. I was prepared for a fight and I was sure the fight wasn't prepared for me. This was going to be a piece of cake.

The closer I got to it, the more it smelt like death. It wasn't the sweet smell of decomposing flesh or the delicious smell of an animal being deliciously prepared in an oven. Its raunchy smell was definitely that of a human body being cooked over an open fire. Well done, I should say. I crawled through the weeds on my belly to investigate. Instead of finding bandits, I came across what looked like a pair of human beings with legs the size of fucking antelopes. If I was kicked anywhere in the chest, I'd be…

_Zip!_ They disappeared away like guardians. What was left behind certainly was a roasted corpse, no doubt their lunch for today. A few minutes later the same two returned, joined by two more of those things. Instead of returning to their meal of roasted human, their heads snapped up, and their glaring red eyes focused in my direction.

Blades of flesh sprouted from their arms. They crouched down, they knew I was here.

I moved my finger down toward the trigger. The sights steadied with my breathing. I had them.

The fight was mostly a blur. They took the first move as they charged forward as fast as their fucking legs could carry them. I immediately opened fire. They screamed back in return. What I thought was going to be an easy fight turned into a brawl of mental and physical quickness. Sometimes I leapt and fired at the same time.

The battle went away from the camp and into the savannah. I used most of my energy sprinting from tree to tree. My gun rattled off rounds as fast as I could push the trigger to its limits. With one of those bastards' heads rolling toward me, I noticed a clicking sound. I looked down and found my gun jammed.

"Fuck." I cursed at it. It couldn't have been the worst time to jam up.

Other than that, I didn't have much time to react. When I looked up, another one raised its arms above my head; intending to turn my head into fucking fruit salad. I pulled out my knife and plunged it straight into its neck. Blood immediately erupted as I dragged it down and yanked it out of its torso. I flicked my knife off to the side as it collapsed to the ground covered in its own blood.

Since found a good spot to free my gun out of a jam, I grabbed it with me and moved. I felt something hard hit my back and I soon found myself knocked to the ground. Dammit, more of those things. I turned around and saw the bastard eye to eye. This was it; it was kill or become lunch. I scurried to get my knife and clinched it hard, ready to stab it clean through its head.

Instead of attacking me though, it dashed back into the weeds. I felt something warm flow down my back when I stood up. Oh shit, it was blood. How did the hell did I not know my shields were depleted? I lowered my scarf and made it useful as a primitive tourniquet. Being an engineer didn't excuse me from knowing basic first aid after all.

The walk back to the abandoned camp was a simple one. I only used it to reorient myself and to collect whatever meager loot there was available. Sadly, I only found spare ammo and money. Whoever got here first took all the good stuff already. Goddammit, I needed every piece of loot I could sell.

Continuing on from that little interruption, I found a small tinfoil shack at the base of some foothills. It stuck up like a splinter in the grasses below. Since my marker was pointing to it, I guess this was the right place. Smoke was coming out of some sort of chimney. Well, at least he'd be kind enough to treat whatever the hell that hit me. At least I wasn't bleeding profusely like some of those animals I wasted.

Being someone needing obvious amounts of Insta-health vials, I disregarded all courtesies and invited myself in though the door. I saw a lot of knives, knives, and more goddamn knives hanging up on the wall and on the ceiling! Damn, this guy must really love knives. I fought my pain with the fucking amazement this guy has for knives.

"Yo! Doctor, you in!" I called out.

"Coming! Coming!" a hoarse voice muffled by his mask came in. "What do you- Holy shit! What happened?" His bushy grey eyebrows instantly came up over his silver-rimmed sunglasses. "Sit down. I'll get you an Insta-health thingy."

I sat down as he ran out with his stained labcoat dragging behind him and ran back in juggling a yellow insta-health vial in his hands. When he injected it in me, I felt the meds work its fucking magic. He yanked it out a minute later.

"There," he said. "I hope whatever shit'ns there's gone."

I thought he was going to do some kind of examination. "You hope it's gone?"

He cracked his knuckles. "Meh. I know they work; more or less."

Was he really a doctor? "You sound you don't know what the hell you're doing."

He shrugged. "So? That's 'cause a med dealer is all what a doctor is." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. "Have a smoke. You obviously know what this does to your body."

"I'll save it for later, thanks. What kind of doctor are you?"

"The one who likes knives," he grinned maniacally. "You see my collection? Nothing but the finest blades. Kukris, Tanto's, KA-BAR's... I got them all. Well, everything 'cept for scalpels."

He immediately closed the distance between us and whipped out a blade of his own. I recognized it. It was one of those "buzz-axes" some of the bandits carried in their arsenal. He flipped it over to the pointy end.

"Bandit axes are very peculiar," he mused while tracing it across my neck. "You'd never think idiots like them could make anything useful. But here they are, making things that can bust through competent shields with ease." He tapped it gently. "One swipe to your jugs or carotids… and it's all over. I've never heard anyone come up from second wind with them swiped."

I stared him down through his glasses. "Are you threatening me, punk?"

He pulled back the axe. "The fact that I didn't kill you on sight tells you wonders, kiddo."

He immediately cheered up. "Well, shoot… I don't know what you're doing here. Anyway, no worries mate, if you've survived the Crimson Lance, you can survive just about anything."

How the hell did he know that? I wasn't ready to trust him, especially since he blurted that piece of information out. He probably found out from Marcus although the armor I was wearing was a dead giveaway.

"Anything except financial problems," I said. "Marcus sent me here and told me you have some crap that needs to be done or what?"

It was partially that; but anyone who served in the Crimson Lance knew that Atlas didn't pay half a damn. Money was a free for all thin in the Lance. I got my pay from the people I murdered. I still couldn't believe I'd still have to return to scrounging around for my pay. It would work as a temporary deal, as long I could get shit straight.

"Marcus, huh? I'll check my ECHOmail later. Anyway, I'm Fred, Doctor Fred."

"Have a last name?"

"That's it."

"Same here. Name's Roland by the way."

"So, Roland. Marcus is generally nice and all, but I've got no way to pay you since my vending machine I got from Dr. Bled ain't working."

"Hey, I used to be an engineer... maybe I can fix it. Got any tools?"

"Just knives. I think I had I wrench somewhere. You can have a look at it if you want. It's in the back," he motioned.

I went into the back and found the vending machine in question lying on the floor. It looked similar to the ones in the rest of Pandora. Changing the "Dr. Bled's" to "Fred's" was probably the biggest problem I saw. Who knew what kind of mess was inside there? It couldn't be that bad to be honest. I set to work on it. It was a peaceful change of work from back in the good old days.

_Eris, 5 years ago_

I double tapped the APC me and my squad just came out of. We easily annihilated the town's pathetic defenders in the initial combat with our highly modernized units. Now it was time to get our fair share of loot and pay. I rechecked my HUD and ordered my squad to do the same before setting off on raiding. I locked and loaded my Atlas White Assault Rifle and pistol. I could feel the loot already at my fingertips.

"All units on me," I ordered. I took a quick glance, making a quick decision of which building to storm in first. "Alpha Company's taking the first row of houses, we get the second one. Move out!"

We ran toward the second line of low, mud build houses. "Stack up!"

My squad of five did exactly what I told them to do. They lined up without fuss, huddled against the wall with their menagerie of guns ready to go. Since I was so confident that we weren't going to encounter any resistance, I kicked down the door myself. My squad flooded in like a pack of famished wolves suddenly finding something to eat.

"Clear!" I heard a shout from inside the building. I followed in to find its inhabitants cowering in the corner. They looked pretty well off and their place looked ripe enough for the pickings.

"Go guard the door, Jenkins," I ordered. I turned my attention to the terrified mom, dad, and teenage daughter. While I could empathize with them, I certainly lost the will to sympathize. The years in the Crimson Lance reinforced that concept well. My job wasn't to be a soldier. No, I was the leader of an organized death and looting squad. My tattoo of a black skull symbolized that.

"Where's the loot?" I asked coldly. "Your life won't be in danger if you tell us now."

They said nothing, possibly to irritate me to death. "Bones, Murdock, guard them. The rest of you, help me tear down this place."

We did exactly that, tearing apart the entire home for anything of value. Guns, knives, gold, dollars, and anything worth selling off on the black market, we took it to make our salary. Atlas never cared about us, why should we care about worthless civilians that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? I found guns in one of the cabinets. Hah! Thinking they could hide something so obvious from me. Resistance fighters… they were going to be an especially fun bunch of people to toy with.

I took my gun out and shot the man in the arm. As he winced from the bullet ripping through his body, I taunted, "Shut up! It's only a flesh wound."

One of my men came in with a dark green trash bag, "Enough money for a bonus for all of us this month, boss." he explained.

"Thanks for the bonus! Fucking resistance scum." I responded. I pointed my pistol up and shot them both in the head. They both deserved it. I watched as they slumped to the floor. A trail of blood marked where their heads once were. The poor girl was in shock, completely helpless to the situation. It must have been her first time watching somebody getting shot. It was a routine mission for us though.

I withdrew my pistol and put it back in my holster. At least I was satisfied. Bones spoke up, "What do you want us to do with the girl, boss?"

"Whatever the fuck you want, but take no prisoners afterward." I responded. "Echo Company is going to reinforce our position soon. I'm going to take a smoke break."

I caught Jenkins on the way out. "You can join on the fun if you want."

I leaned up against the wall and lit up. Hearing all sorts of sounds coming from the inside seemed to contrast with the constant vehicle noise outside. At least the men were having fun with their new prisoner. I used to be like that too but toying with the prisoners after killing their relatives got old after a while. They were often too damn predictable.

I could faintly discern the sound of moaning, screaming, and the smacking of flesh. Most men joined the Lance to get their million dollars, find fame, get crazy stoned, or to lose their virginity within a month. Of course, even in my position, none of that ever happened. They usually cracked under the pressure and were killed, by us or by them. Don't get me wrong, I actually liked my "job," if it was respectful to call it that.

I kind of wished I could do this forever, but I'd be dead before that.

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Thanks to Anonymous for reviewing! Reviews and comments are all welcome!


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